《Heart of Ink & Ice》


 A Juxtaposition of Fur & Scales

    Dappled sunlight filtered through the dense Appalachian foliage, casting shifting patterns on the worn path as Miria walked in silence. Her escort -- aka the totally unnecessary bodyguard her absentee father had insisted on -- kept a vigilant watch, his sharp eyes flicking between the trees and the communications device strapped to his wrist. For him, this was a mission.


    For Miria, it was a hike to her brother''s graduation ceremony: a straightforward journey to a ceremony she had couldn''t bring herself to want to attend, even though she knew she should.


    Neither of her parents were going to make it. No matter how unenthusiastic she was about leaving the Preserves and braving the corrupt cities controlled by her father''s beloved Technocracy, Connor deserved to have some family present for the celebration.


    Born critically ill, his life had been saved by post-birth genetic editing. He was a living testament to the miraculous and terrible technology their father endorsed, the recipient of a gift that came with its own burden of ''advantages.'' Connor hadn''t had that choice, not if he was to survive, but Miria couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of betrayal, of loss even, as she prepared to watch her brother venture further down the path their father had blazed. As if the technological interventions weren''t enough, he was more graduating from one of the world''s most elite academies, pioneering cyborg technology and striving to further blur the line between man and machine.


    Years of heated debates, of clashes in ideology, all underscored the growing chasm between them. And yet, beneath her resentment lay a powerful vein of sisterly pride and affection and guilt.


    Unlike Connor, she''d stayed with their mother; a repository of the past, an archivist who had brought the tales of the region¡¯s deep history alive for young Miria. As an apprentice, Miria had listened, rapt, to stories of the Mid-Atlantic before the world¡¯s most recent and most severe struggle with climate change, of a vibrant biosphere teeming with creatures now extinct or radically altered.


    Miria¡¯s father, chief of security for the global technocracy, was a cold and distant figure in her memories, their shared moments overshadowed by his obsession with the future and the politics of progress. She had been raised too steeped in tradition to reject him from her heart, or to wish him dead, for all it made her feel like a hypocrite.


    If it were up to him, she wouldn''t just have an overbred, overmuscled, overarmed guard -- she''d have been teleported from her home straight to the Academy, and damn the expense both financial and ecological. Demetrius was the compromise, and she tried not to blame him for being caught in the middle of her family drama.


    "Do you have any family?" she asked abruptly, then rolled her eyes at herself. "I mean, I know you guys are all genetically engineered, but still. Parents? Siblings?"


    Demetrius glanced at her, his hyperalert gaze softening for a moment. "Families are complex, Miria. Especially when the world''s changing so fast."


    Miria grimaced. The world was indeed changing fast, had been changing fast for centuries. Too fast for her to feel entirely comfortable with humanity''s prospects. But change, she knew, was the one constant in life. Her mother always said that the worst part of growing up seemed to be learning how to navigate the future as well.


    Even so, she couldn''t help but resent any moment her father seemed to be right.


    "Either way, we''re nearly to the transport hub." Demetrius¡¯s voice was steady, though he cast a cautious glance over his shoulder. They were traveling on foot, following the old C&O Canal towpath that wound its way to the heart of the much-reduced remnants of the riverside city once known as Washington DC. ¡°And good thing too; it¡¯ll be too dark to see in another hour or two.¡±


    Miria nodded, her eyes wide and attentive. She was young, barely twenty, with a serious face that bore an uncanny resemblance to her father, the formidable General Argyle. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a practical braid, and the scattered evening light caught the ink stains on her fingers, testament to her hours spent in the archive rooms of the Appalachian preserve.


    Suddenly, a rustling noise interrupted their conversation. ¡°Don''t move, Miria,¡± he ordered, his gaze focused toward the noise as he reached toward his holster. ¡°We''ve got company.¡±


    She, at least, was not in the habit of assuming company on the trail as something to be feared. "So? Oh, don¡¯t be ridic¡ª" The bark of an old-fashioned gun cut her off.


    From the dense woods flanking the path, a group of figures emerged: a motley group of five individuals, each bearing the rough, weather-worn look of sustainable hunters. They wore mismatched camouflage outfits, patched together from who-knew-what sources. Their outfits were stained with sweat, dirt, and the evidence of forest living, creating an impression of determined, rugged survivalism. Their fluid, silent movements mirrored predators, their focused expressions indicating purpose.


    Their leader, a tall man with shoulder-length braided chestnut hair, held an old bolt-action rifle with seasoned ease. His stern face bore lines of hard living, his green eyes predatory. He was flanked by two men, one muscular with sun-baked skin and close-shorn hair, the other lean with unruly blond hair and darting blue eyes. Their weapons, a longbow and a slingshot, were held with experienced grips. The last two, women, contrasted one another. One, tall and willowy, blended with the trees, a quiver of arrows on her back and a crossbow in hand. The other, shorter and stockier with fiery red hair, wielded a gleaming machete.


    Someone else, someone more foolish or less educated than Miria ¡ª someone who had spent their entire life under the thumb of the Technocracy¡¯s authority ¡ª might have looked at those weapons and thought their wielders hopelessly outclassed, but Miria knew her history, knew that it wasn¡¯t inherent inferiority that had led those weapons to be considered antiques, but rather the difficulty of mastery. It took a generation to get truly good with a longbow, and this man had the telltale musculature of someone who had taken the time to learn.


    Not surprising; life in the preserves appealed to the sort of men willing to do just that. It was one of the reasons she loved it here.


    The arrows just weren¡¯t usually pointed at her. This wasn''t an accidental encounter¡ªit was a strategic, desperate attack. They were hunters turned soldiers ¡ª rebels ¡ª a chilling sight reflecting troubled times she hadn¡¯t ever expected to come to life outside teatime discussions between her mother¡¯s colleagues.


    Demetrius, his body honed from years of Peacekeeper training, reacted swiftly to the threat. He pulled Miria behind him, his hand reaching for the stun gun fastened on his belt.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°Give us the girl and things will stay bloodless.¡± There was an ironic tilt to the leader¡¯s lips that told Miria he was posturing; not even the most idiotic of kidnappers would think a Peacekeeper would be swayed by threats. They were the Technocracy¡¯s most loyal shock troops and infiltrators, born and bred and trained their whole lives to serve¡­ which was why her father had asked Demetrius to her escort her.


    She hated it when he was vindicated. The idea that anyone would want to use her for leverage against either of her parents was insane; barely anyone even knew who her father even was and even if they had somehow found out, how could any of the Retrogressives ¡ª who else could they be? ¡ª believe he¡¯d sacrifice anything of his actual goals for her safety? Over twenty years, she could count on one hand the number of times he¡¯d so much as bothered to visit her in person.


    Before she could make sense of the situation well enough to reply, the sharp report of an black powder gun erupted from the underbrush. The bullet whistled past them, dangerously close. Miria felt the rush of its passage, a shockwave of sound and fury that tore through the morning stillness. Fear, sudden and visceral, seized her heart.


    Demetrius moved instantly, a blur of precision and power. His body interposed itself between her and the oncoming danger, a human shield against the bullets. His hand darted to his side, drawing out a sidearm too small to look threatening and doubly dangerous because of it.


    The second shot echoed through the air, closer this time. A guttural curse escaped Demetrius'' lips as he shoved Miria behind him, pushing her down onto the dirt path. He didn''t need to say anything. The severity of the situation was as clear as the terror clutching at her heart.


    With another incoming round, he world became a blur of movement and color. She caught glimpses of rebels darting through the undergrowth, heard the terrifying whizzing of bullets, the pulse-pounding rhythm of her heart in her ears.


    Instinct took over. Fear melded with anger and a deep-rooted determination. She fought back, struggling against his iron grip. When she tried to speak, he silenced her with his hand and she struggled all the more. His eyes met hers, filled with stern determination. He was trying to protect her, even if the adrenaline pouring through her thought him a threat, understandably given how he had hauled her like a ragdoll.


    Slowly, she stilled, and nodded weakly, embarrassment sparking with anger ¡ª if he hadn¡¯t grabbed her, she could have hidden herself behind the thick trunk of a nearby tree. She could feel the strength of his Peacekeeper-bred muscles as he finished maneuvering her behind cover. His attention quickly snapped back to the skirmish unfolding. A hail of bullets tore through the foliage, revealing the shadowy figures of the rebels emerging from the tree line. Their faces were grim, their intentions deadly clear. They had come prepared for a fight.


    Demetrius¡¯ presence, which even she hadn¡¯t known about until yesterday, wasn¡¯t a surprise for this group.


    The Peacekeeper returned fire, his weapon buzzing as it unleashed a beam of something towards her prospective kidnappers. It lit up the undergrowth, its neon hue illuminating the approaching rebels. One of them screamed, collapsing as the beam found its mark.


    Miria''s heart pounded like a dreamer-drum, her thoughts a whirl of fear and indignation. She could feel the cool bark of the tree against her back, the rough earth under her, the harsh grip of Demetrius as he held her down. The tang of fear filled her mouth, its icy tendrils wrapping around her heart.


    Then, suddenly, the world seemed to tilt. An explosion erupted from the undergrowth, the force of it sending a shower of dirt and debris into the air. Demetrius shielded her from the blast, his body thrown against hers, his weight crushing and comforting at once. "Stay down and stay quiet," he hissed, his voice barely audible above the ringing in her ears.


    Miria was no stranger to this wilderness; she¡¯d spent her whole life here, unlike Demetrius; the Peacekeepers were a global force, and not welcome in the Preserves under ordinary circumstances. "Let me help. You can''t take them all alone," she pleaded, her hands balling into fists. ¡°You don¡¯t know the terrain.¡±


    His lips went crooked, his grip on her shoulder tightening. "Your safety is my priority, Miria, and I don¡¯t have time to explain. You need to trust me."


    The words echoed in her mind, frustration brewing within her. Trust him? She trusted him to follow his orders ¡ª but to know the land? Besides, she was not a hothouse flower destined to be preserved in glass. She was an archivist; a custodian of Appalachian history ¡ª a forester and a conservationist. She knew these woods better than he did ¡ª albeit probably not better than their attackers.


    However, before she could protest, Demetrius moved like a shadow, disappearing into the woods, and Miria had to decide: stay or go? What exactly did she think she, weaponless, at the tail end of a long hike, could do against five well-prepared rebels in a part of the forest they undoubtedly knew better than she, even if she was more familiar with the region than Demetrius?


    Before she had decided whether to risk her own disappearing act into the woods, Demetrius returned with blood on his cheek and a small device in his hand. ¡°We need to go.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Miria said numbly. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Illegal science,¡± he said grimly. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t have been given it if I wasn¡¯t expected to use it in an emergency.¡±


    Demetrius grabbed her hand before she could pull away, then pressed a button on the teleporter; it had to be, though the smallest she¡¯d ever heard of was the size of a cow, and banned within the Preserves besides. Before she could protest, the trees around them blinked out of existence. When the world coalesced again, the air was noon-bright and heavy rapids surrounded her on all sides of a small island with a single, barren tree.


    "Where are we?" Miria asked, her voice squeaking with confusion.


    Demetrius shrugged, staring at his empty hand. "Not where we were supposed to be. That teleporter was meant to take us to the closest telecradle; we should be in Old DC." He glanced around, his Peacekeeper training kicking in, assessing the environment for potential threats. "This could be anywhere from northern Germany to New Zealand."


    "But that''s impossible," Miria whispered, her mind racing as she tried to piece together what had happened.


    "Quite impossible indeed," Demetrius agreed. "And yet, here we are."


    ¡°That¡¯s the trouble with experimental technology,¡± Miria said, trying not to glare.


    ¡°Better lost than dead,¡± Demetrius said. He sighed, pulling himself to his full height, his gaze sweeping over the river. "Welcome to... wherever this is, Miria, but first things first. We need to establish contact with headquarters."


    She had never admired Demetrius''s efficiency, thinking it cold and a little inhuman, but she couldn¡¯t deny his ability to remain calm in the face of crisis. But as he frowned, a sense of unease blossomed in her gut. Miria wished she could have the satisfaction of watching him work, but Peacekeeper communications gear was all internal; like her brother Connor, Demetrius was fundamentally a cyborg, bound unconscionably close to the technology that had nearly destroyed their planet during the Climate Crisis.


    She turned her attention to their surroundings, taking in the unusual flora. There was something off about this river, something that went beyond their unexpected teleportation. The nearby bank bore no resemblance to the Appalachian rivers she was used to different, and the curlique plants reminded her more of a Dr. Seuss painting than anything she¡¯d ever seen in a natural history book.


    "Impossible," she whispered, a sense of horror creeping into her voice.


    "What is?" Demetrius asked, looking up from his seemingly futile attempts to arrange a rescue.


    Perched on a nearby branch was a creature that was unlike anything she''d ever seen. It looked like a lizard on fire, but with thick fur instead of flames; she might have thought little of it if it weren¡¯t for the scales. Or the determined way it chewed on a luminescent orb, like an antique inksketch of a will-o''-the-wisp. Its toothless jaws produced small bursts of flame that ignited the orb but didn''t seem to harm the creature. Or maybe the little ball of light was defending itself with fire, which the lizard ignored.


    A shiver ran down Miria''s spine as she watched the creature, an uneasy sense of wonder settling in her stomach. "Demetrius," she said quietly, "I don''t think we''re in Germany."


    He followed her gaze to the creature and then back to her, his expression hardening. "Then where the hell are we, Miria?"


    "I don''t know," she said, her gaze never leaving the strange creature. "But we''re certainly not on the Earth we know."

 A Tyranny of Flowers & Flight

    Miria¡¯s eyes darted between the shifting skies overhead and the rushing water of the river before her. It was like nothing she''d seen before. The unusual pace of the water, the curling flora along the banks, and even the stones, rounded as if by an unseen artist, all hinted at a world utterly alien.


    "Are we stranded?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the swift current.


    Demetrius, knelt down with his eyes closed, probably engaged with the internal systems of his Peacekeeper gear. "Depends," he said without opening his eyes, "on what you mean by stranded."


    While he was preoccupied, Miria decided to survey the small island. Rocky, barren and barely a couple of acres in size, it was not an ideal spot to be stuck. The brush was thick around the edges, but she could still see the sparkle of rushing water on every side, confirming their island status.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a child you can hoist on your shoulders and carry to safety,¡± she said finally. ¡°We need to figure out what we¡¯ve got to work with if we¡¯re going to get off this island, and you need to let me help. Wading into an unknown river blindly is a fool¡¯s risk. I have skills, Demetrius.¡±


    After a moment, he sighed and slid his travel pack off his shoulders. A light touch unzipped it, revealing a single thin jumpsuit, a handful of compact weapons she couldn¡¯t immediately identify, goggles she assumed had night- and distance- vision features, a multitool, and a miniature plasma torch, powered by a tiny but potent power cell. He also had ration bricks, high-tensile paracord, useful for everything from climbing to trapping game, a water purifier, and a powerful, collapsible light source that probably doubled as a heater. In the medical section of his pack, there were small vials of fast-acting coagulants, antiseptics, and nanite-laced bandages that accentuated the healing process. He also carried an injector pen loaded with painkillers and stimulants for emergency situations.


    Miria, by contrast, carried a few changes of clothes. She also had a sturdy coil of cord, a multipurpose toolset that included a sharp, durable knife, and a flint and steel striker for starting fires. Her canteen was nestled beside a set of binoculars. Her pack also contained a basic first-aid kit, which included bandages, antiseptic ointment, tweezers, and a small sewing kit for stitching wounds. In a small pouch, she kept a compass, and she still had that topographical map of the area around her Appalachian preserve, though she doubted that would be of much use now. Her own food ¡ª nuts and berries, dried meat ¡ª wasn¡¯t as efficient as the Peacekeeper rations, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that it tasted better.


    ¡°Let¡¯s check the water first,¡± Demetrius said, picking up his water purifier. Leaving the rest of his gear on the rock beside her, he approached the riverbank and scooped a sample of the river water into the device''s collection chamber. The purification process started immediately.


    "The water is teeming with microscopic organisms, as expected," Demetrius replied, focusing on the data stream flowing into his neural interface. "But you¡¯re right; wading in would have been a fool¡¯s risk."


    "Oh?" Miria moved closer, trying to peek at the device. "Is it dangerous?"


    Demetrius nodded, his gaze distant. ¡°There seems to be an alien form of cyanobacteria. It''s similar to what produced oxygen billions of years ago on Earth, but its structure is unique."


    "And the danger part?"


    He sighed, blinking to disconnect from the magnified image of the bacteria. "A potent neurotoxin, more powerful than anything we''d have seen on Earth. It¡¯s a bit like Pfiesteria piscicida, which used to kill fish and sicken humans. We wiped it out during the Climate Crisis, trying to keep the Chesapeake Bay from turning into an ecological disaster zone.¡±


    ¡°At least it wouldn¡¯t kill us?¡± Miria asked.


    Demetrius¡¯ lips tightened. ¡°The potency of this... it''s far greater. And anything that sickens you in an unfamiliar survival situation might as well have killed you outright."


    Miria swallowed. "Can you purify it?"


    "The purifier will take care of it," he reassured her, raising the now-safe water in a small detachable cup for her to see. "It''s safe to drink now."


    Miria looked at their assortment of supplies, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. Despite her inherent distaste for the high-tech gear that Demetrius brought with him, she couldn''t deny its utility in their current predicament. A part of her recoiled at the idea of relying on the very technology she had long decried, but another, more practical part of her understood the stark reality of their situation.


    With a sigh, she picked up the advanced multitool Demetrius had shown her, the cool metal feeling alien in her hand. She turned it over, watching the play of light on its sleek, functional surface. The conflict within her welled up and spilled over into words.


    "Bet you''re feeling pretty vindicated right about now, huh?" Miria said, her tone more bitter than she had intended. "Your fancy tech comes to the rescue while my old-school gear just sits here."


    Demetrius paused, looking at her with an expression that was both thoughtful and careful. "Miria," he began, "Your work with the cultural preserves is invaluable. You''ve spent your life safeguarding our history, our heritage. But if this isn''t Earth, and it¡¯s just us, maybe we don''t need to focus so much on... preserving Earth¡¯s cultural heritage."


    Miria bristled at his words, the patronizing undertone, however unintentional, rubbing her the wrong way. She shot back, "We wouldn''t even be here if it weren''t for my father insisting I let you escort me to Connor¡¯s graduation. Sure, I''d probably still have gotten kidnapped, but there''d be negotiations, a strike team, something. I''d likely be fine."


    The silence that followed was awkward. Demetrius seemed taken aback by her retort, his usual composed demeanor faltering slightly. Miria sighed again, running a hand through her hair. She needed space, some time to think and process everything.


    "I''m going to climb that tree over there," she said, pointing to a tall, sturdy looking one nearby. "Get a better view of our surroundings."


    Demetrius nodded, looking at her for a moment longer before turning away. "I''ll scout the edges of the island, see if there''s anything we can use."


    With that, they set off in opposite directions, the tension hanging heavy in the air.


    Making her way toward the tree, Miria was soon distracted by its peculiar form. It stood tall and robust, but the closer she got, the more she realized its bark held a peculiar swirl of colors ¡ª not brown, but tiny flecks of deep cerulean to vibrant chartreuse, the pigments pulsing faintly in sync with an unseen rhythm. The branches didn''t burst outwards in the vein-like sprawl as she was used to. Instead, they followed a pattern, spiraling up in an exquisite symmetry, akin to a helix.


    The leaves weren''t leaves in the traditional sense. They were tendrils, numerous and fine, arching gracefully from the branches, waving gently as if responding to a soft, rhythmic pulse of energy. They appeared cottony, almost hairy, each strand ending in a small, circular flower, the hue of dawn''s first blush. Each was like a mouth, opening and closing rhythmically as if drinking in the very air around it.


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    A shiver of wonder passed through Miria. This was a living testament to life''s endless innovation, an entity designed to thrive not in Earth''s conditions, but in this new world''s unusual patterns of energy flow.


    Her excitement, however, was dampened by the realization of the damage she might cause by climbing the tree. Each tug could rip a flower, every step might crush a delicate tendril. As an archivist, she''d spent her life preserving and respecting the world around her, not exploiting it. But this time, her survival was at stake.


    She bit her lip. Demetrius was right; this wasn¡¯t Earth. It was even possible that this tree would benefit from her interference, the way that some plants couldn¡¯t grow properly unless they were grazed. And part of her thought she was being ridiculous: every step she took on the ground could cause untold problems: she was, for all intents and purposes, an alien life form and an invasive species. Even if she slit her own throat right then and there, she was contaminating this ecosystem with every breath.


    But still, she was reluctant to risk destroying something she didn¡¯t understand, and she hated the idea of beginning a visit to a new planet with ignorant destruction. How would she have felt if an alien had come to Appalachia and started knocking over the precious chestnut trees she and her predecessors had worked so painstakingly hard to bring back from the brink of extinction?


    If she tried to explain that to Demetrius, though, she knew what he¡¯d do: he¡¯d come climb the tree herself. It wasn¡¯t as though she could stop him; he was stronger, faster, and better armed than she was, to say nothing of being fanatical devoted to a single simple goal ¡ª keeping her alive.


    She began to climb, attempting to navigate the intricate spiral branches without causing too much damage. Moving slowly, she carefully avoided the tender tendrils and flowers. Despite her efforts, she couldn¡¯t avoid everything. She winced as she heard the crackle of a crushed tendril beneath her boot, but she pushed onwards.


    Finally, she found herself near the top of the tree, where she could see the expanse of the island. But as she reached out for the last branch, she noticed a cluster of small, pitcher-shaped flowers. To grasp the branch meant to destroy them.


    With a sense of resolve, she pulled her hand back, refusing to cause any more harm.


    This was high enough.


    A town-sized settlement stood nestled downstream, obscured partially by a thick cover of forest, but unmistakably unnatural to the landscape. With any luck, it was inhabited by people.


    A sense of accomplishment surged within Miria as she drank in the view from her lofty perch atop the spiraling branches. She had scaled this peculiar tree with surgical precision, preserving its beauty by navigating a pathway that caused minimal harm. It was a task that required not only physical dexterity but also the application of her intellect, a delicate balancing act that she had always found deeply satisfying.


    Interrupting her triumphant moment, a soft illumination drew her attention. There, floating beside her, was a creature resembling the paintings she¡¯d seen of will-o''-the-wisps from her childhood books of folklore. Barely larger than her thumb, it radiated a soft glow that danced around her, painting the world in an ethereal blue light. It appeared to be spun from energy, but she doubted the the tiny luminescent thing was a faerie from her childhood tales.


    She tried to shoo the creature away with a swift hand motion, but it stayed close. It didn¡¯t lunge to bite her, or try to land, so after a tense moment, she took a deep breath and realigned her focus. She could not afford to expend her energy on a harmless creature ¡ª or even a harmful one she couldn¡¯t actually deal with ¡ª when larger tasks loomed ahead.


    Miria leaned back against the tree trunk, the strange, glowing creature hovering in her periphery. She reminded herself of her purpose, of the reconnaissance task she had taken upon herself. The landscape below demanded her attention more urgently than the flickering light at her shoulder. This was not a time for distraction; survival came first.


    Awareness of the luminescent creature at her side lingered, but she had to treat it as an oddity, not a threat. It was not welcome, per se, but nor was it an immediate danger. It was simply there, as unignorable as the foreign trees or the rolling landscape itself.


    Even so, she climbed down with a newfound urgency, and that¡¯s when the small flowers at the top of the tree burst open, spraying a fine mist into the air. The unexpected attack caught Miria off-guard, and she instinctively ducked to shield her face. She had a feeling the sprayed droplets were not water, but rather a cocktail of potent enzymes and toxins, like what she¡¯d find within the pitcher of a carnivorous pitcher plant.


    Pitcher plants on Earth had evolved a simple yet effective method of trapping prey ¡ª a pool of sweet, intoxicating nectar to lure unsuspecting insects, which would then find themselves trapped in a pool of powerful digestive juices. As with the neurotoxins in the river, this tree seemed to have taken that concept up to eleven ¡ª this time, with aerial attacks.


    The spray didn''t just stick; it burned through her sleeve with terrifying, acidic efficiency. Miria lost her left-handed grip from the pain and swung out into open space. The tendrils shot out, moving with a speed that seemed impossible given their previous gentle sway.


    They wrapped around her, a python''s grip that pulled her towards the trunk. The helix pattern of the tree branches straightened out in response to the tree''s motion, extending outwards like arms reaching for a long-awaited embrace.


    She slashed at the tendrils, her movements frantic and frenzied. Each cut tendril recoiled, but the tree was relentless. For every tendril she severed, two more sprung forth, their grip tightening, pulling her closer into a deadly embrace.


    Miria groped at her pocket, finding her multitool. With a grunt, she managed to flick open the blade, slicing at the tendrils. Her frantic actions caused her to sway, her foot slipping from the branch. She yelped as she plummeted, hitting the ground with a painful thud.


    Demetrius was by her side in a moment. "Are you okay?" he asked, fear lacing his voice.


    She winced, her ankle throbbing. "I''ll live," she replied, shaking her head to clear it. ¡°There¡¯s got to be some kind of hydraulic system? It¡¯s like some kind of ranged pitcher plant.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    "The small flowers up top, they sprayed me with some kind of acid when I tried to climb down.¡± She held up her arm so he could see the burned sleeve. ¡°Then those tendrils tried to catch me," She glanced at the tree, a newfound respect mingling with her fear as she tried to stand.


    The moment Miria dared to shift her weight onto her injured ankle, a white-hot, blistering agony surged through her body, centering in her stomach. Self-admonishment washed over her as she shifted her weight enough remain upright, realizing she''d given Demetrius more reasons to intensify his overprotectiveness, a thought which further soured her suffering.


    Instead of criticizing her, though, he just reached for a bandage and held out his hands for her ankle.


    Miria tilted her head as she looked at his hands, worried. "The nanites in the bandage... Should we be using them for something as small as a sprain?"


    Demetrius paused, meeting her gaze. "If it helps us survive and keep moving now, it''s not a waste," he said firmly, reaching for the ankle again. "We can''t afford to have you hobbling around, Miria. Not until we¡¯re a lot safer than we are now. Did you learn anything while you were up in the tree?¡±


    Miria nodded at the change of subject, biting back a gasp when he touched her already-swelling skin. ¡°Looks like there might be a town up on the bluffs, but I didn¡¯t see any obvious ways off this island. You?¡±


    "A fallen tree along the edge of the island. Solid, strong branches. Could be useful for shelter, or maybe make a raft," he explained, wrapping the bandage around her ankle. ¡°Or its bark could explode the minute I try to break it off. Who knows?¡±


    ¡°I wish I could be happier that even you¡¯re out of your depth,¡± Miria said sourly.


    He flashed her a quick grin and secured the bandage with a small bit of toothy metal. "Saw what looks like a slime mold over by the eroding edge of the island, on top of a pile of wet driftwood. Not sure if it''s dangerous, but I didn¡¯t want to poke it and find out."


    "Most slime molds aren¡¯t dangerous," Miria mused, ¡°but then again, before today, I¡¯m not sure I


    "We''ll have to keep an eye on it," Demetrius agreed, before grimacing slightly. "Also, my compass isn''t much help here. The magnetic field is all over the place."


    She hummed in understanding, her gaze drifting to her bandaged ankle. "And food? Water?"


    "I found a bush covered in berries. No idea if they''re safe to eat. We''ll need to figure that out soon," he said, standing to pack away the first-aid kit.


    Miria gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "Anything else?"


    He hesitated for a moment. "There''s a ground nest. Not built with twigs though, it''s made of some kind of hardened, almost crystalline plant fibers. And there''s a lot of geodes around the island.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a lot more willing to trust the inorganic things, given what we¡¯ve found so far.¡± Miria eyed the nearby tree warily.


    ¡°Hopefully we can trust the people in that town you saw to have answers,¡± Demetrius said, re-securing the first-aid kit. ¡°Otherwise, we¡¯re probably not going to make it. There¡¯s too much we don¡¯t know, and the environment here¡­¡±


    ¡°Worse than Australia?¡± she asked, trying for levity.


    He didn¡¯t laugh. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll find out.¡±